


Snow

by FenHarelsPride (Andauril)



Series: Siryn Lavellan [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, In Your Heart Shall Burn, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andauril/pseuds/FenHarelsPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could not find her.</p><p>Solas forced himself to wake, urged his weary eyes to open. A terrible emptiness had taken hold of him, and he felt his gut twist with guilt.</p><p>The dead did not dream. If her spirit had been severed ultimately from her body, he would not be able to sense her in the Fade anymore. If she had died, her blood stained his hands, no matter how violently he might blame Cullen for sending her against Corypheus. None of this would have happened if not for him.</p><p>***</p><p>After the avalanche, Siryn Lavellan is gone missing. Solas, knowing that he had brought this upon her, is worriyng over her survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

White layers of snow rolled down the slope, burying everything in its path under it. The rolling snow gained more and more momentum, crushing and routing out trees on its way down into the valley. The avalanche buried Haven in its wake until the whole village was covered in snow, out-rooted trees and ice, safe for the steeple which protruded the icy cover that had swallowed the little village.

Solas watched the dragon fly off, circling over the remains of Haven before it vanished beyond the horizon. His fingers clenched around his staff, and he could not help but stare down into the valley, in the childish hope to watch another figure emerge out of the snow.

But there was no movement safe for the avalanche which now buried everything in its path.

They were safe. They had escaped an attack which – as Cullen so accurately had pointed out – they could not have hoped to win. The Breach had been sealed – the Veil was once more whole.

He should’ve felt relieved. His mistake was, at least partly, rectified. He had not been able to reclaim his orb, but at least the immediate threat had been eliminated.

Yet, while he stared down the hillside, all Solas could think about was _her._

Of course it was foolish of him. She was mortal; her life lasted only a moment compared to the endless stream of years which awaited him. Her death was inevitable. He had known it the moment he first had seen her, unconscious in the cells beneath Haven’s chantry.

Still, some foolish part inside him denied him to think what was only the logical conclusion of what had just happened.

_She can’t be dead._

He knew her. He had travelled alongside her for some months. She was capable and strong, quick-witted and resourceful. She was fast and persistent runner. If someone could hope to escape such an avalanche, it was her.

He didn’t want to think about the possibility of her death. If she had died, it was his fault entirely. He had allowed this to happen. He had brought this upon her with his foolishness. That he could have destroyed the perhaps only person of any promise in this age through his carelessness, his miscalculations …

Siryn Lavellan was different. She was constantly curious, spirited, driven and had  often had shown a wisdom and maturity he had not expected to find in anyone from this age, least of all among the Dalish. She was intriguing, beyond her obvious beauty.

_You cannot know with absolute certainty that she is dead. Focus only on what you know._

“Chuckles?” The dwarf’s voice drew his attention. “It’s maybe best if we go. We’ve got a lot of wounded and Chancellor Roderick won’t make it much longer.”

Solas forced himself to turn around and face Varric. “You are certainly right. Let us go.”

Varric furrowed his brow. He cast curious glanced up at Solas’s face.

“Is something bothering you, Master Tethras?”

“With me? Let’s think about it … I just barely survived the destruction of an entire village, not to mention that some old darkspawn Tevinter bastard reappeared who was pretty much dead when I last saw him.”

“You know this creature?” Solas feigned ignorance, while his gut clenched with guilt.

“Fought him even. He calls himself Corypheus.” Varric creased his brow, shaking his head. “Anyway, I was going to ask you if anything is alright. Me? I’m bit by bit used to weird shit happening around me. Must be some kind of talent.”

“We have survived, have we not?”

“Only barely, and not all of us.” Varric sighed. “Listen, Chuckles, I know you and Violet have spent some time together. It’s never easy to lose someone you call a friend.”

“No. It never is.”

If he had believed in any gods, he would have considered praying to them for Siryn Lavellan’s survival. But he knew better, and the ones who once had called themselves gods were undeserving of such prayers. He could only try to trust _her_ , to believe in her abilities and her will to life. It was likely nothing more than wishful thinking, but she had survived the blast which tore open the Veil. She had survived being sent physically through the Fade, as well as having the Anchor bestowed upon her. And he had yet no proof of her demise.

He had to focus on what he knew. He had no proof of her survival either, but as long he didn’t see her dead body, he could not simply assume that she was gone.

As soon as they would make rest, he would look for her. If Siryn Lavellan was still alive, he would find her in the Fade. Possibly.

“You know, Chuckles, I don’t really think she’s dead. Violet is pretty tough, and her kin knows how to survive in the wilderness.”

Solas released a slight sigh. “We only can hope that you are correct, Master Tethras.” He certainly did.

He had ruined enough through his foolishness. His decisions had already almost killed her once before. If she had departed in the wake of the avalanche, it was entirely his doing.

 

“We need more blankets!”

“Commander, this is all we have …”

Cullen shook his head, a heavy sigh moving his chest. “Alright then … We need to move closer together. What about other supplies? Food? Medicine?”

“I’ll go check it out …”

“Good!”

Solas waited until the tired-looking scribe had vanished beyond one of the makeshift tents before he approached the commander. Cold wind blew off from the surrounding mountains, carrying thick icy flakes with it. The wind grew more violent with every passing moment.

Solas suspected a blizzard was coming. Such weather was not uncommon in the Frostback Mountains, where winter was tenacious and unwilling to yield before warmer weather.

“May I have a moment, Commander?”

Cullen turned around and nodded. “Sure.”

“Your scouts have not been successful so far, I assume?”

Cullen shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t believe there’s a point in searching for the Herold. Admitted, there is a slight chance that she could have escaped the avalanche, but it buried all our trebuchets. Of course we’ll be looking for her, but I don’t have much hope to find anything but her remains.”

“You have put her at the mercy of this creature!” It was pointless to argue about something which already had happened, but he could not simply close his eyes before the commander’s guilt – nor his own. “You knew that her chances of survival were slight, and you _sacrificed_ her.”

 _Wouldn’t you have done the same?,_ a blasphemous voice asked in the back of his head, but Solas ignored it. It was not of importance. He would not have sacrificed her, for the Anchor’s sake – and because she was different.

“You could’ve sent someone else. But you never truly cared for your Herold. Instead, the moment she had fulfilled her purpose, she was deemed expendable.”

He had always known it. The Inquisition had used Siryn Lavellan to pursue its goals, but never truly had shown any interest in her that went beyond the glowing mark upon her hand. Once, he had been guilty of it himself.

And he knew that she had been aware of it as well.

“I’ve blamed myself already for it.” Cullen released a deep sigh. “I have sent her out to die, and if she … Maker, I’m praying for it! … is still alive and out here, I’ll be begging for her forgiveness tenfold. But I assume you didn’t want to talk to me to blame me?”

“No. I came to offer my help in this matter. If Lavellan is still alive, there is the possibility that I could find her … not in the waking world, but in the Fade.”

“And you’re informing me because …?”

“ … you sent her out to die. I figured it would be appropriate you learned first if you have succeeded.”

Cullen closed his eyes. “I deserve it, don’t I? I will not hinder you. Find out if she is still alive.”

 

He could not find her. The shimmering thread that pulsed between them, that tied them together by the means of his magic branded into her hand, seemed to lead him astray.

The Fade was empty. He could find no sign of her. It was only the thread of his magic, mocking, taunting him. She was not here.

He could not find her.

Solas forced himself to wake, urged his weary eyes to open. A terrible emptiness had taken hold of him, and he felt his gut twist with guilt.

The dead did not dream. If her spirit had been severed ultimately from her body, he would not be able to sense her in the Fade anymore. If she had died, her blood stained his hands, no matter how violently he might blame Cullen for sending her against Corypheus. Nothing of this would have happened if not for him.

Nothing. He could make amends. He could help heal the damage he had done. He could find a way to rectify his mistakes of the past. But he could not bring her back from the dead. If she had died, there was nothing he could do to undo it. Her blood would forever cling to his hands.

“You blame yourself. Why?”

Solas raised his chin to look at the young man standing in front of him. He did not seem affected by the cold at all. His pale blond hair peaked into pale eyes, half hidden beneath the shadow cast from the brim of his hat. None of the fugitives around around them spared him as much as a side-glance, as if he was not even here.

“Dead people don’t dream”, said the young man, _shemlen_ in all appearance and yet … different. Someone else might not even have noticed it, but Solas could feel the slight stir in the Veil where Cole stood. As if the Fade was calling for him, with silent whispers not even Solas himself could understand. “But awake people don’t dream too.”

“I know.”

“The commander is blaming himself too. The red-haired lady is blaming herself. So much blame. They didn’t see it coming. They think they should have.” Cole stared at him, pale blue eyes wide. “I’m blaming myself too. I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t.”

“You are the last of us who should blame himself.”

“Yes. But I do.” Cole stood perfectly still, only his lips and eyes moving. “You blame yourself, but she wasn’t there because of you. You …” Cole seemed startled. “ … I don’t understand?”

“I apologize, Cole. I have thoughts that I would prefer not to share.”

At any other time, he would have found his ability to peer into the thoughts of others fascinating … But right now his mind was too preoccupied to concern himself with minor distractions. While he knew that Cole had brought up a valid point – that she could be awake, somewhere, instead of dead – he could not completely shake the thought of her demise.

The notion that he had – again – caused the death of someone he cared for …

He should have never allowed her to come near, to wear down his defenses and the carefully crafted distance he had kept to everyone and everything within the Inquisition, within this very age and this world he had wrought …

“You’re hurting. Old and new pains, panging. I’m sorry …” Cole stared at the tips of his shoes. “It’s never the same as before. Maybe she’s safe. It wasn’t your fault. You can’t know everything.”

“I know.” Not even his old friend Wisdom knew everything. It was pointless to believe he could ever gather enough knowledge to guess the outcome of his decisions correctly. But he had thought to know enough, and he had terribly failed. Maybe he had not even cared … If he succeeded, it had been worth the risks a thousand fold.

He should have learned by now that his succession rate was terrible low.

“I can’t heal your hurt. Not all. But she isn’t lost. Awake people don’t dream.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Solas nodded, and he meant it.

The dead did not dream, but so did the waking. Siryn Lavellan might as well be still alive. She was probably freezing, miserable and hurt, but she could still be among the living. He would not allow himself to carry this burden, the guilt of having caused her death, until he had evidence for her departure.

The waking did not dream.

 

She was cold. Her skin, spotting normally a warm, golden tone, seemed almost as icy white as the snow.  Even her white-blonde hair looked dark in comparison to the terrible pallor of her skin. Her lips were pale, bloodless, their color almost indistinguishable from her white skin.

She was wrapped in thick layers of fur and blankets. Every piece of clothing any of them could spare had been used to try to warm her freezing body.

She had been unconscious when they had found her. Only luck had saved her from dying out here in the blizzard, and Solas was still wondering how exactly she had managed to survive. Had it been the Anchor? Her own willpower? A combination of both?

He had not complained when he had been asked to watch over her recovery. He knew a number of spells which would help her recover, and it allowed him to take care of her himself.

Seeing her alive – even if injured and too cold for his liking – was the closest thing to a miracle he had experienced in a great many years. Her injuries were severe, but not life-threatening. A dislocated shoulder, a few slightly broken rips, hypothermia …

_“Ir abelas, lathallan.”_

She was alive, and she would life, yet none of it was because of his merit. He could only help her recover, watch over her and whisper his apologies while she still was deep asleep.

Cullen could ask for her forgiveness once she awoke. But he himself could not afford the same luxury.

She could never know.


End file.
